The Idiot (14 page)

Nastasya Filippovna’s reply dumbfounded the two friends.

Not only was there not the slightest trace in her of her former mockery, her former hostility and hatred, her former laughter, the mere recollection of which had hitherto sent shivers down Totsky’s spine, but, on the contrary, she seemed to rejoice that she was at last able to talk to someone in an open and friendly manner. She confessed that she herself had long wanted to ask for friendly advice, that only pride had stood in her way, but that now that the ice was broken, there could be nothing better. At first with a sad smile, but then laughing cheerfully and playfully, she admitted that at any rate there could be no question of her earlier storms; that she had long ago partly altered her view of things, and that although she had not altered in her heart, she was still compelled to accept many things as facts that had been accomplished; what was done was done, what was past was past, so that she even found it strange that Afanasy Ivanovich still continued to be so alarmed. Here she turned to Ivan Fyodorovich and, with a look of the most profound respect, declared that she had long heard a very great deal about his daughters and had long grown accustomed to respecting them deeply and sincerely. The very thought that she might be in any way at all useful to them, would, it seemed, have made her happy and proud. It was true that she felt wretched and low just now, very low; Afanasy Ivanovich had guessed her dreams; she would have liked to resurrect herself, if not in love then in a family, conscious of a new goal; but of Gavrila Ardalionovich she could say almost nothing. It seemed to be true that he loved her; she felt that she herself could fall in love with him, if she could believe in the firmness of his affection; but he was very young, even if he was sincere; it was hard to make a decision. What appealed to her most, however, was the fact that he was in work, that he toiled and supported his family alone. She had heard that he was a man of energy and pride, wanted a career, wanted to make his mark. She had also heard that Nina Alexandrovna Ivolgina, Gavrila Ardalionovich’s mother, was a magnificent and in the highest degree estimable woman; that his sister, Varvara Ardalionovna, was a very remarkable and energetic girl; she had heard much about her from Ptitsyn. She had heard that they were cheerfully enduring their misfortunes; she would very much have liked to make their acquaintance, but there was a question as to whether they would welcome her into their family. On the whole, she would not say anything against the possibility of this marriage, but she really needed to think about it carefully; she would prefer it if they did not hurry her. As for the seventy-five thousand — there
was no need for Afanasy Ivanovich to be so embarrassed about speaking of it. She knew the value of money and would, of course, take it. She was grateful to Afanasy Ivanovich for his tact, for not speaking of it even to the general, let alone to Gavrila Ardalionovich, but then why should he not know of it in advance? She had no reason to be ashamed on account of this money, on entering their family. At any rate, she had no intention of asking anyone for forgiveness for anything, and wanted them to know that. She would not marry Gavrila Ardalionovich until she was quite certain that neither he nor his family had any hidden thoughts in her regard. At all events, she did not consider that she was to blame for anything, and it would be better if Gavrila Ardalionovich knew on what basis she had been living in St Petersburg these last five years, in what relation to Afanasy Ivanovich, and how much of a fortune she had put together. Finally, if she were to accept this capital now, it was in no way as payment for her maidenly disgrace, for which she was not to blame, but simply as recompense for a corrupted destiny.

Towards the end, so excited and irritable did she become as she set forth all this (which was, however, so natural), that General Yepanchin was quite satisfied and considered the matter finished; but even now the alarmed Totsky did not quite believe in it, and for a long time feared that a serpent might lurk beneath the flowers. But the negotiations began; the point on which the entire manoeuvre of the two friends was based, namely the possibility that Nastasya Filippovna was in love with Ganya, gradually started to become clear and to find its justification, so that even Totsky sometimes began to believe in the possibility of success. Meanwhile, Nastasya Filippovna had a confrontation with Ganya: very few words were spoken, as though her modesty experienced pain during the course of it. But she acknowledged and allowed his love, insistently declaring, however, that she was not willing to restrict herself in any way; that until the day of the wedding (if there was to be a wedding) she reserved to herself the right to say ‘no’, even at the very last moment; she offered Ganya that entire same right. Soon Ganya learned for a fact, through a stroke of chance, that the whole extent of his family’s ill-will towards this marriage and towards Nastasya Filippovna personally, something that had been revealed in domestic scenes, was already known to Nastasya Filippovna; she herself had not broached the subject with him, though he expected it daily. As a matter of fact, one might tell much of all the stories and circumstances that came to light apropos of this matchmaking and the negotiations; but as it is, we have run on ahead, especially as some of the circumstances appeared in the form of extremely vague rumours. For example, Totsky was supposed to have learned from somewhere that Nastasya Filippovna had entered into some kind of vague and secret relations with the Yepanchin girls - a quite unlikely rumour. On the other hand, there was another rumour which he believed in spite of himself, and which he feared to the point of nightmare: he had heard for a fact that Nastasya Filippovna was perfectly aw
are that Ganya was marrying only for money, that Ganya’s soul was dark, grasping, impatient, envious and immensely, out of all proportion, self-proud; that although Ganya had indeed passionately tried to achieve victory over Nastasya Filippovna earlier, when the two friends decided to exploit this passion, which had begun on both sides, to their advantage and buy Ganya by selling him Nastasya Filippovna as his lawful wife, he began to hate her like the nightmare he had had. In his soul there seemed to be a strange fusion of passion and hatred, and although at last, after agonizing hesitations, he agreed to marry the ‘vile woman’, he swore in his soul to take a bitter revenge on her for it and to ‘harry her to death’ later on, as he apparently expressed it. Nastasya Filippovna apparently knew all this and was preparing something in secret. By this time Totsky was in such a state of funk that he even stopped telling Yepanchin about his worries; but there were moments when, like the weak man he was, he decidedly took heart again and swiftly regained his spirits: he took heart exceedingly, for example, when Nastasya Filippovna at last promised the two friends that on the evening of her birthday she would deliver her final word. On the other hand, a most strange and most unlikely rumour concerning the respected Ivan Fyodorovich turned out - alas! - to be more and more correct.

At first glance the whole thing seemed the purest rubbish. It was hard to believe that Ivan Fyodorovich, at his venerable age, with his splendid intellect and positive knowledge of life, etcetera, etcetera, could ever be seduced by Nastasya Filippovna - but such, apparently, was the case and, it was said, to such a degree that this caprice almost resembled passion. What his hopes were in this instance it was hard to imagine; perhaps he was even relying on Ganya’s assistance. Totsky at least suspected something of this kind, suspected the existence of some almost tacit concordat, founded upon mutual discernment, between the general and Ganya. As a matter of fact, it is well known that a man excessively carried away by passion, especially if he is getting on in years, becomes completely blind and is ready to suspect hope where there is none at all; not only that, but he loses his reason and acts like a silly child, though he may be a Solomon of wisdom. It was known that the general was preparing to give Nastasya Filippovna a present of some wonderful pearls, costing a vast sum, for her birthday, and that he had a considerable interest in this present, though he knew that Nastasya Filippovna was a disinterested woman. On the eve of Nastasya Filippovna’s birthday he was almost in a fever, though he skilfully concealed it. It was of these pearls that the general’s wife, Mrs Yepanchina, had heard. True, Yelizaveta Prokofyevna had long experienced her spouse’s fickleness, and was even to some extent accustomed to it; but after all, a case like this could not possibly be overlooked: the rumour of the pearls interested her exceedingly. The general sniffed this out in good time; the previous day certain words had passed between them; he had forebodings of a major confrontation, and was afraid of it. This was why, on the morning where we begin our story, he so dreadfully did not want to go to have breakfast
in the bosom of his family. Even before the prince appeared he had decided to plead pressure of business, and thus to avoid it. For the general, avoidance sometimes simply meant running away. He merely wished to get through that day and, especially, that evening, without unpleasantness. And suddenly, so opportunely, the prince had arrived. ‘As though God had sent him!’ the general thought to himself as he went in to his wife.

The general’s wife guarded her lineage jealously. So it may be imagined what she felt upon hearing, directly and without preparation, that this Prince Myshkin, the last in the family, a man of whom she had already heard something, was no more than a pathetic idiot and almost a beggar, and accepting alms because of poverty. For the general had striven for effect, so as to engage her interest at once and somehow deflect it from himself.

In extreme situations the general’s wife’s eyes usually bulged exceedingly as, with a slight backwards tilt of her body, she looked vaguely ahead of her, not saying a word. She was a tall woman, the same age as her husband, with dark hair that contained much grey, but was still luxuriant, a slightly aquiline nose, and a rather thin look, with hollow, sallow cheeks and sunken lips. Her forehead was high, but narrow; her grey, rather large eyes sometimes had a most startling expression. At one time she had the foible of believing that her gaze was uncommonly effective; this conviction had remained with her, and nothing could efface it.

‘Receive him? You say we must receive him, now, this instant?’ And the general’s wife made her eyes bulge with all her might at Ivan Fyodorovich, as he stood fidgeting before her.

‘Oh, where that’s concerned you need not stand on any ceremony, if only you will see him, my dear,’ the general hurried to explain. ‘He’s a perfect child, and even a rather pathetic one; he has some kind of morbid fits; he is newly arrived from Switzerland, just off the train, dressed strangely, in a sort of German style, and in addition without a copeck, literally; he is almost in tears. I gave him twenty-five roubles and am going to find him some little clerking job in our office. And you,
mesdames,
I should like you to give him something to eat and drink, because I think he is hungry, too ...’

‘You astonish me,’ the general’s wife continued as before. ‘Hungry and fits
^!
What kind of fits?’

“Oh, they don’t occur so often, and moreover he’s almost like a child, though an educated one. I was going to ask you,
mesdames,’
he addressed his daughters again, ‘to give him an examination, for it really would be good to know what he is able to do.’

‘An ex-am-in-ation?’ the general’s wife said slowly, and in the most profound bewilderment began once more to roll her eyes from her daughters to her husband and back again.

‘Oh, my dear, don’t give it such a meaning ... Anyway, it’s as you please; I thought we might be kind to him and bring him into our home, as it’s almost a charitable act.’

‘Bring him into our home? From Switzerland?’

‘In this case Switzerland may come in useful; but anyway, I repeat, it’s as you like. You see I want to do it because, firstly, he shar
es our family name, and may even be a relative of ours, and secondly, he has nowhere to lay his head. I actually thought it might be rather interesting for you, as whatever else he is, he’s from our family.’

‘Of course,
Maman,
if we don’t need to stand on ceremony with him; what’s more, he is hungry after his journey, why not feed him, if he has nowhere else to go?’ the eldest, Alexandra, said.

‘And also a perfect child, we can play blind man’s buff with him.’

‘Blind man’s buff? What on earth?’

‘Oh,
Maman,
do stop play-acting, please,’ Aglaya interrupted in vexation.

The middle daughter, Adelaida, much given to mirth, could not restrain herself and burst out laughing.

‘Call him in, Papa,’ Aglaya decided. The general rang the bell and had the prince called in.

‘But only on condition he has a napkin tied round his neck when he sits down at table,’ the general’s wife decided. ‘Call Fyodor, or let it be Mavra ... to stand behind him and look after him while he’s eating. Is he quiet during his fits, at least? He doesn’t make gestures?’

‘On the contrary, he is even very nicely brought up and has beautiful manners. He’s sometimes a bit simple-minded ... But here he is! So now, madam, let me introduce you, the last Prince Myshkin of his line, who shares your family name and may also be a relative of yours, receive him and be kind to him. Breakfast will be served in a moment, Prince, please do us the honour ... But you must forgive me, I’m late, I must hurry ...’

‘We know where you’re hurrying to,’ the general’s wife said with a consequential air.

‘I’m in a hurry, a hurry, my dear, I’m late! And give him your albums,
mesdames,
let him write something in them, he’s such a calligrapher, you have never seen the like! A talent; the way he wrote out for me in my study: “The Abbot Pafnuty hath signed this with his hand” ... Well, goodbye.’

‘Pafnuty? An abbot? But wait, wait, where are you going, and who is this Pafnuty?’ in stubborn vexation, very nearly bordering on anxiety, the general’s wife cried to her spouse as he ran away.